Myths of Origin Four Short Novels - By Catherynne M. Valente Page 0,126

I ran my hands over the massive body, through the thin trunks and the dripping belly. The skin beneath was silver, flushed with blue and gold, rose and green, iridescent as that of a snail.

It was helpless as an infant, unable to stand, and I could smell, still, the skin of Kushinada on its breath.

The monks crowded around, prodding the beast, awe-struck at its size and nearness, this thing they had feared for so long. They tugged at the eight tails, even tasted the oozing blood, and plucked limbs from the forest of its spine. The abbot put a decrepit sword into my hand, the ceremonial blade of their shrine, hardly sharp enough to cut lard. But even below the cellars of heaven, my arms are strong.

I walked to the first head, and in the late afternoon light, the eyes seemed to struggle, the lid seemed to draw aside like pale curtains, and its mouth seemed to protest. With that blunted sword I hewed into the gray-green flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a shriek:

/Is this how the snot-born earns back his godhead? He slurps us, oh, we are his soup!/

I walked to the second head, and hewed into the silver-blue flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a rattle:

(Is this how the unloved child punishes the only one less loved than he? He chews us, oh, we are his gristle!)

I walked to the third head, and hewed into the pearl-gold flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a scream:

—Is this how the suitor greets his bride? He buys us, oh, we are his prize!—

I walked to the fourth head, and hewed into the nacreous flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a hiss:

{Is this how the dog shows its dam its adulation? He gnaws us, oh, we are his bone!}

I walked to the fifth head, and hewed into the bruise-violet flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a sigh:

|Is this how a cloud shows the sun its strength? He hides us, oh, we are his crime!|

I walked to the sixth head, and hewed into the tarnished opal flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a howl:

[Is this how the hero defeats his dragon? He cuts us, oh, we are his supper!]

I walked to the seventh head, and hewed into the watery flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a shudder:

*Is this how family honors family? He stains us, oh, he stains us, we are nothing to him! No, please, Susanoo, let me stay, let me live beside you, as Mother meant—*

I walked to the eighth head, and hewed into the worm-slick flesh of its neck—and the blood which flowed from the serpent was red as a woman’s, and the jaws sprung open, and its exhale was a maddened cry:

“Please, oh, please, I am afraid! The jellyfish, the jellyfish—I can’t see! The jellyfish crowd overhead!”

I opened the last neck and lodged there, as though she had just been swallowed, was the body of Kushinada, laid into the green-black flesh like a gem set into a box. She was as beautiful as they promised, her hair wrapping her body, strands sticking in the pooled blood, her pale and perfect face streaked with bile and slime. She lay clutching the length of the serpent’s gnarled spine with all her strength, her arms and legs clasped around it, weeping piteously.

“No, no, Kameko, Kazuyo! Kaya, Kiyomi, my sisters! Kyoko, Kaori, Koto! Come back, come back, Hiruko, please, it is cold out here, I am alone, I am alone, we said we would none of us be alone again. Come back!”

I pulled her from her throat-crèche, pulled her out of that wreckage of blood and tissue as a midwife pulls a child from a dead mother, and she